***Possible Trigger Warning, Reader Discretion Advised***
CHAPTER 19
03 April 1972 - Great Hall, 7:16AM
From the Front Page of the Daily Prophet
By Chief Editor Barnabas Cuffe
DEARBORN FAMILY GRUESOMELY SLAUGHTERED!
CLAIMS "NO MERCY FOR BLOOD TRAITORS!"
FIRST DECLARATION OF WAR…BUT BY WHOM?
Ladies and gentle-wizards of England, you read that correctly.
We here at the Prophet can confirm that the entire Noble Dearborn family was slain this past Saturday in their home. Caradoc Lord Dearbon, Ilene Lady Dearborn, their three school-aged daughters, the family elf, and even the pet crup were gruesomely tortured for hours before all were subsequently murdered.
We can confirm with photographic evidence (found on Pages 3-5) that their heads were mounted on pikes outside of the family's manor, with their blood used to spell 'No Mercy for Blood Traitors!' against the front walls of the manor for all witnesses to see. Evidence further shows that their bodies were mutilated beyond recognition, shredded to nothing more than raw meat by a pack of werewolves led by the notorious Fenrir Greyback - a former Hogwarts student of Ravenclaw House. Though officially unconfirmed, many Prophet sources believe the werewolves to be in the employ of the newly announced Dark Lord, strongly believed to be the arbiter of the Dearborn family's horrific demise.
Interestingly, there are quite a few prominent detractors in the Wizengamot who are believed to decry the assignation of this assassination to the newly minted Dark Lord.
Lords Malfoy, Nott, Selwyn, Wilkes, and their various allies and Vassals have claimed in several sessions prior that the increasingly violent anti-muggleborn propaganda was a mere ruse to spurn anti-pureblood hatred, especially by the remaining lieutenants of the infamous muggleborn Dark Lord Alexander McAvity. Most notably, Cecile Ambrose was credited for publicly assassinating Cantankerous Jr. Lord Nott in May 1971 then disappearing soon after. At the current time, the disgraced muggleborn Dark Lord resides in Australia and serves as its ICW representative. Lord Malfoy has indicated retaking his former mantle of 'Light Lord' in the Wizengamot to wrangle his like-minded faction in combating what he believes to be "baseless and dangerous accusations against upstanding members of Wizarding society."
As it stands, the Wizengamot will be having an emergency session this coming week to address this macabre act of violence against one of its peers.
Naturally, we here at the Prophet will be on hand to ensure that all of you in Wizarding Britain are kept abreast of this growing development.
Quietly folding his paper and setting it aside, a noticeably green Peter glared at his plate as he fought off the growing wave of nausea.
'No way I can stomach these eggs now.'
He wasn't the only one; a sea of matching faces surrounded him at the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, with many visibly exclaiming in disgust.
Third-Year Badger Edgar Bones looked visibly ill, hurriedly excusing himself from the table and rushing out of the Great Hall. Quite a few others followed behind him, too put off by the horrid news to even fathom looking at food. Even Ravenclaw - the more reserved of the Houses - looked appalled at the grisly details. Second Year Pandora Croaker looked ready to vomit, with Xenophilius Lovegood not far behind.
His friends were a mixed bag; Remus looked horrified, face blanched in dread. James looked even greener than he did, though he didn't fail to shoot scathing glares at the Slytherin table. Sirius was the same, practically glaring a hole through his cousin Narcissa's head as she delicately sipped at her tea without a care in the world. Fourth Year Lucius Malfoy was stone-faced, though Peter didn't miss the subtly disgusted looks he leveled at his older brother Claudius as the Seventh Year Slytherin sat raucously laughing with his coterie of sycophants.
Lily Evans and Severus Snape were both stone-faced, the latter's lips thinner than Peter had ever thought possible. The two had made unwitting waves since being Sorted into Slytherin, Lily moreso than Severus. The former was a muggleborn whose only connection with wizarding society was through a seeming mentee relationship with Lord Gaunt, another Slytherin muggleborn who'd risen above every barrier wizarding society had set in place against his ilk.
It struck him as odd that James was so obsessed with her, given she was a member of the Serpents Nest and made no qualms about hating his guts.
Shrugging off those thoughts, the Gryffindor pushed aside his intended breakfast and began preparing a strong cup of sweet milky tea, adding a small plate of dried toast with butter. Nibbling on his serving, the young Lion allowed his eyes to wander, landing on the Head Table.
Headmaster Dumbledore looked grave, an expression mirrored by the bulk of the staff. Selina Sapworthy - the current Divinations Professor - was staring grimly at the bottom of her teacup.
'Probably using tessomancy to divine some aspect of greater doom.' He snorted in spite of himself.
His eyes landed on Professor Augustus Rookwood - the current DADA instructor. To his surprise, Pettigrew realized that Rookwood was staring at him, rather intently too. Time seemed to slow as their gazes interlocked, Peter's eyes tunneling into that of the older man. Though his vision swam with that of the Professor's, it was impossible to tell exactly what the man was thinking as his expression felt like staring at an immovable brick wall.
Not only that, but his head felt funny.
Peter couldn't articulate the strange mental sensation, almost as if… someone else was peeking through the proverbial window of his mind.
It was gone in a blink of an eye, as Professor Rookwood turned back to his paper and tea. Shrugging as though he'd immediately forgotten the interaction, he continued to nibble on his toast, hoping the already terrible day would pass by quickly.
01 August 1972
From the Front Page of the Daily Prophet
By Sr. Editor Gaius Filhous
UNPRECEDENTED DEVELOPMENT!
MUGGLEBORN NORBERT 'NOBBY' LEACH BECOMES NEW MINISTER OF MAGIC!
PUREBLOOD CONTENDER EUGENIA JENKINS DEFEATED!
ABRAXAS LORD MALFOY THREATENS FORMAL CENSURE!
DEMANDS FOR VOTE RECALL!
Dear Readers, you read that correctly!
Newcomer Nobby Leach has won the election for Minister of Magic, soundly defeating incumbent Eugenia Jenkins! Endorsed as the favorite of hardline purebloods like Lords Malfoy, Wilkes, Nott and their allies, it seems Jenkins did not have the matching vote of confidence in the wizarding public.
As confirmed by our sources in the Office of Administrative Services, newly-minted Minister Leach received 62% of the vote, bolstered by an unprecedented number of votes from our muggleborn and muggle-raised halfblood citizens. A previously underrepresented voting class, these two forces executed a fierce grassroots campaign to secure Leach the nomination, before successfully galvanizing their ranks to ensure he'd be voted into office.
It is worth noting that the Magical Youth Liaison Program - the philanthropic brainchild of Thomas Riddle Lord Gaunt - provided the operational support needed to get Minister Leach voted into office.
When asked for a quote after this historic win Lord Gaunt claimed: "Times are changing, and the tides of progress wait for no one. Minister Leach's recent ascension is indicative of a new and better path for all magicals within Wizarding Society, not just those possessing the centuries-long privilege of primogenital power."
We here at the Prophet can only sit back and observe if this bold new ministerial vision will come to pass as the permanent rule of wizarding law.
For more quotes from our esteemed Wizengamot Lords and Ladies, please refer to Pages 2-3.
For additional details on Lord Malfoy's 50,000 galleon fine-incurring outburst in the recent Wizengamot session, refer to Page 6.
01 September 1972 - Hogwarts Express, 3:54PM
Feigning sleep, Peter pressed his head closer against the compartment window, allowing the thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat to align with the repeated chug-chug-chug of the train. His godfather called it 'auditory mirroring', an Occludic technique that incorporated an external focus to reach and maintain a state of prolonged calm. It took immediate effect, allowing the Gryffindor's body to go slack as he sunk into a light sleep.
Time trudged peacefully along, before a burst of excitement from Sirius jerked him out of his reverie. Seated next to him was Remus, who turned and gave him a subtle eye roll at their friend's shenanigans, causing Peter to delicately snort. Sirius made that same excited noise, causing James to start snickering. As always, the two lowered their heads and began scheming…something with each other that they would inevitably share with the other two once they were done conspiring.
'You'd think getting facefuls of the Pus-Squirting Hex would dull their enthusiasm for a bit.' Pettigrew fought the urge to look incredulous.
Lily Evans had not only been vicious in her insults ("entitled troglodytes'' was the tamest of her arsenal), her wandwork had been just as fierce, hexing James and Sirius silly as the two boys were busy haranguing Snivellus with admittedly childish insults. James in particular seemed to oscillate between hatefully sniping at the boy and lavishing compliments on the girl, further stoking the latter's ire.
Ironically, Sirius had been even more vicious towards Snape than James, still peeved about the Hair-Loss Curse the Slytherin had sneakily cast at him during one of their firstie flying lessons. A bald and humiliated Heir Black had been furious, even moreso when Madame Hooch had threatened him with detention for making baseless accusations against Snape, who'd projected a mask of surprisingly passable innocence as the ranting Gryffindor had been unable to prove that Snivellus was the one who cast the spell.
In any other context, the remaining Gryffindors would have rallied behind their fellow Lion, especially against a Slytherin on sheer principle. But Sirius' (and James') shenanigans had been enough to grate on the nerves of their Housemates, leaving him high and dry.
'It's not like he didn't deserve it…he did use the Sticking Charm to glue Severus' hands to his broom. Turnabout is fair play.' Unbidden, Peter then winced as the memory of the Sorting Hat flitted through his mind, the ancient headpiece strongly suggesting that he choose Hufflepuff.
'You can be great, Mr. Pettigrew,' it had said. 'I see you, the true you interred within the shadows of your mind. I know your father has filled your head with nonsense about your so-called weaknesses and your need to be cleansed of them. But contrary to your father's belief, the potential you possess won't come from being ensconced within the Lions' Den just focused on achieving your father's definition of greatness. You…' It'd paused quite significantly then. 'You can also be good, and there is plenty of greatness in that too.'
Unfortunately, the weight of Martin Pettigrew's expectations had won that particular round.
"No no no, that's not enough James! We've got to make it hurt!"
Remus and Peter exchanged a concerned glance at that statement, knowing things would end rather badly if Sirius were the one advocating for more cruelty. Despite his boyish joie de vivre, Heir Black had a propensity for vengefulness that was on par with the reputation of his familial House.
Sighing, the third and fourth respective wheels of The Marauders joined in on the conversation, hoping to lessen the fallout of whatever would-be debacle James and Sirius intended to cook up.
03 May 1973
From the Front Page of the Wizarding World News
By Associate Editor Andy Smudgley
THE DARK LORD DEBUTS NEW ARMY!
THE GHOSTS OF SILESIA!
After wreaking devastation with his most recent raid, the Dark Lord has unveiled a new personal army he's calling 'The Eaters of Death anew - The Ghosts of Silesia'.
Little is known about these 'Ghosts', save for being 13 in number. As numerologically suggestive as that is, there are no other insights to be gleaned from their identities. The Dark Lord deems them to be his "greatest creation yet!", an elite kill-squad that's been credited with the devastating loss of life in Kenmare - a community consisting primarily of muggleborns and muggle-raised halfbloods.
Not only that, the Ghosts and the Dark Lord have taken credit for the slaughter of Lord and Lady Burke, painting the manor's walls with their blood in the same manner as the Dearborns.
In response to this tragedy, Minister Leach has authorized immediate expansion of the Auror Program and increased funding for St. Mungo's, establishing emergency patrol programs assigned to heavily-muggle born populated neighborhoods in Hogsmeade and the rest of wizarding Britain. His new initiative has been backed by Lords Gaunt, Potter, Longbottom, and Lady Brown, with strong approval from Chief Auror Rufus Scrimgeour and DMLE Director Bartemius Crouch Sr. House Brown in particular has been recognized as an official Patron of St. Mungo's, granted a exclusive contract to provide emergency Potions supplies to aid the ever-increasing number of injured.
It has been further rumored that Crouch Sr. plans on suggesting legislation that will authorize the Auror force to utilize equal lethal force in the face of the Death Eaters. So far, said rumor has been met with swift backlash from traditionalist factions - most notably Selwyn, Malfoy, and Nott - all of whom (interestingly enough) once staunchly proclaimed that the Dark Lord did not exist and said acts of violence were propaganda.
For direct quotes from Lords Nott, Malfoy, DMLE Director Crouch Sr., and the Chief Auror, please refer to page 4.
16 October 1973 - Hogwarts Library, 3:04PM
Muttering to himself (but not enough to attract Madam Pince's attention), Peter methodically browsed the shelves dedicated to Charms, trying to find every feasible text that detailed the offensive applications of the Verdimillious spell. Professor Rookwood had offered extra credit for his Second Year DADA students who could both detail and demonstrate said applications. Though he was by no means the top-performing student in the class (Severus Snape held that mantle), he was definitely one of the strongest students and intended to keep it that way.
"Eureka!"
His hand reached out to grab the text he needed, startling as another hand brushed his at the same time.
"Oh! M-my apologies."
It was Marguerite Scarabee, eyes wide in alarm as she recognized just whose hand she'd had the misfortune of accidentally touching. To the Gryffindor's internal shame, Marguerite seemingly curled in on herself like a pill bug as she cast her eyes downward. Her long limp dark brown hair covered her head and eyes like a veil, with arms protectively cradling her rather large pile of books to her person.
A stab of guilt flooded the Third Year Lion.
Ever since she'd made the unfortunate mistake of correcting James' pronunciation of the Levitation spell in First Year Charms, the poor Ravenclaw hadn't known a moment of peace from Heir Potter's mean-spirited taunts. Marguerite had made it a point to keep to herself, but it seemed James was determined to continue kicking a dead horse.
Heir Black, of course, was more than willing to help.
"No apologies needed Marguerite. Please, go ahead." Her pale blue eyes widened, before narrowing in suspicion at his unexpected kindness. Peter bit back his wince, knowing he'd cowardly snickered along with James and Sirius when they two would take turns mocking the poor girl. Thanks to the two, a considerable number of their Housemates and a plethora of students across all Houses now referred to the girl as 'Scab-aree', a most unfortunate play on the girl's last name.
"W-why are y-you being so nice to me?" He couldn't help but wince at her suspicious tone despite her voice being nary above a whisper.
"It's…it's not that really. I've already got plenty of books on the topic, I can find another. Please, help yourself." The girl hesitated for a moment before adding the Charms text to the massive pile already in her arms.
"T-thank you." A soft blush spread across her face, causing a strange effervescence to bubble up in Peter's chest.
"Blimey Peter, what's taking so long he-" James suddenly appeared from a corner, very rudely interrupting the moment. Hazel eyes landing on the pair, Heir Potter's expression twisted cruelly and for once, Peter felt his ire flare.
"Well well well, if it isn't Scab-aree! Scuttling around like a proper little insect eh? Look at all the books you're carrying! Why, you're practically like a little dung beetle!" He snickered rudely as the girl's expression crumpled in shame, before she hurriedly scampered off while furiously wiping at her eyes.
"Was that really necessary James?" The boy wrinkled his face at the question, looking irritated at being challenged.
"Yes Pete, because it was funny." Rolling his eyes James slung an arm around his friend, not noticing the imperceptible stiffening of his body and the tightening of his hands around his books as he led them to their study table.
Neither saw a pair of furious verdant eyes watching them through a gap in the shelves.
05 December 1973 - Great Hall, 7:52AM
The odd prickling across their skin was the immediate sign that something was wrong.
Concern immediately grew to alarm as their flesh began bubbling and roiling, before transforming into a hardened exoskeleton! Arms sprouted fine hairs before rapidly thinning into spindly appendages. Itchy scalps sprouted similar hardened shells as a long set of matching antenna extended outward, twitching and wriggling.
As if that wasn't bad enough, the keenly cloying stench of dung erupted around them like plumes of poisonous gas, causing their fellow Lions to cough and gag in disgust as several cast Bubblehead Charms.
The foursome began panicking in earnest:
"GAH!"
"WHAT'S HAPPENING?!"
"MERLIN'S BEARD!"
"BLOODY HELL, IT STINKS!"
The murmurings in the Great Hall swelled to a crescendo of raucous laughter as all the assembled students hemmed and hawed at the sight of the Marauders transforming into dung beetles!
Frank Longbottom (whose dislike for the bullying foursome was well-known) made it a point to retrieve a wizarding camera and snap several photos, brows eyes twinkling in delight as Alice Blishwick openly pointed and laughed. Marguerite Scarabee openly gawked, before covering her mouth in giggles.
That was the case for most of the Houses, with the Slytherins openly hemming and hawing at the foul-smelling misfortune that had befallen the much-hated Marauders. This bit of vengeance was quite sweet, considering the four pranksters had jinxed the entire House into calling each other "Death Eater!" with some variation of "scum" and "bastard" for an entire day, unable to participate in any of their classes.
The jaunting laughter grew ever louder, interspersing with exclamations of "EEEWWW!" and "CIRCE THEY STINK!" Reactions at the Head Table weren't that varied, though the Professors did a considerably better job of hiding it.
Horrified and humiliated, the foursome fled from the Great Hall, though not before Peter - with vision oddly distorted from being an insect - made eye contact with Lily Evans, whose verdant orbs twinkled with cruel delight and vicious satisfaction.
'Huh… well-played Evans.'
01 February 1974
From the Front Page of the Daily Prophet
By Associate Reporter Remington Almeidus
SHACKLEBOLT FAMILY SLAUGHTERED!
LORD SUMMANUS, LADY CALLIOPE, AND THEIR TWO SONS ALL SLAIN!
SUSPECTED VICTIMS OF DARK LORD WITH POSSIBLE WEREWOLF INVOLVEMENT!
HOUSE SHACKLEBOLT FACING EXTINCTION!
LORD SUMMANUS' NEPHEW KINGSLEY SOLE REMAINING SURVIVOR!
NOT ELIGIBLE FOR HOUSE SEAT!
06 February 1974 - The Shrieking Shack, 7:01PM
"I'm starting to have second thoughts about this."
Peter snorted in response to Sirius' whispered statement, eliciting quiet giggles from James. The three Marauders were hidden under the latter's invisibility cloak, with barely enough fabric to keep them covered. Like all teenage boys they'd seemingly incurred another growth spurt over the winter holidays, making it much more difficult to remain hidden beneath the cloak's protective fabric.
They were currently huddled together near the door of the main room within The Shrieking Shack, the rickety old cabin situated near the Whomping Willow. The threesome had snuck in through a secret underground passageway all the way from the Hospital Wing, hidden behind Madame Pomfrey as the matron had been none the wiser.
Something was going on with Remus.
Granted, they'd suspected that something was off with their friend since the latter half of their first year, but they'd never been able to agree on exactly what the issue was. Peter had finally surmised that the bit of strangeness plaguing the boy always coincided with a full moon, though he wasn't really sure what the lunar cycle had to do with his friend's odd illness.
James was somehow convinced that Remus was secretly a girl who hid out during the peak of her cycle to avoid being around her guy friends.
Sirius believed the opposite, thinking the shy-and-studious persona Lupin possessed was just an act to hide a slick lover boy who 'entertained' his paramours in the secrecy of the Shack.
None had expected to see their sickly and shirtless friend standing in an odd circle and painfully clutching his stomach, being watched over by Professor Dumbledore and Damocles Belby of all people! The latter of whom, as they'd just witnessed, had just fed their friend a potion that made him groan in agony.
"Why's he standing in that weird circle?" whispered Peter nervously.
"Not sure mate…looks like a ritual circle!" replied Sirius in a shocked whisper.
"And what the hell did that Belby man give him?" asked Peter urgently.
"SHHH! They'll hear us!" James urgently whispered.
Unfortunately for James, Remus' superb hearing had heard them.
"Peter?! James?! Sirius?! Is that y-URRRK?!"
The boy's question was interrupted by the sudden crack of his jaw dislocating before stretching out into a lupine muzzle. He fell to the ground howling in agony as the Change began. And in response, three boys hidden under an Invisibility Cloak screamed in terror.
Dumbledore, who had been distracted by the onset of Remus's transformation, looked over to the door leading to the tunnel in surprise. It opened partway, but a flick of his wand caused it to slam shut again. He focused his mind and extended his Legilimency on all levels before striding over towards the wall and reaching out with his hand. When he felt the touch of a silky yet invisible fabric, he grasped it and yanked. The Invisibility Cloak was ripped away to reveal the terrified faces of Sirius Black, James Potter, and Peter Pettigrew, who oscillated between staring in horror at their partially transformed friend and gulping nervously at the sight of the furious Headmaster.
Almost One Hour Later…
"Well…that went a lot better than expected."
A loud snort from Pete followed Siri's statement, causing James to snicker. The three friends were huddled in James' bed in the Second Year boys' dormitory, hidden behind a slew of Silencing charms and a few other privacy spells nabbed from Marauding With The Enemy - the inspiration for their posse's name.
"Can't believe he's a werewolf!" Peter's tone was incredulous. "I mean, it makes sense when you think about it, with him always getting sick on the full moon and what not. All the secrecy…poor guy."
"Yeah, can't imagine why he didn't think he could tell us. I mean, we're his best mates for crying out loud!"
"C'mon Sirius, it's not like lycanthropy is some…socially acceptable affliction. It's a miracle Dumbledore even let him attend school!"
"I know that! But still…it's Remus! He's never tried to eat us, or hurt us, or any of that other kind of rubbish! Not like he's Greyback or anything like that."
Peter shuddered. "You…you reckon he's the one who bit Remus?"
Black grimaced. "Let's hope not."
"We've got to help him. We…we can't let him just suffer through all that by himself. It's…it's not right."
"I agree Pete, but…what the hell can we possibly do? S'not like we have the cure for lycanthropy in our back pockets."
"Animagi."
Two heads snapped at James' whispered statement.
"What are you on about?"
James' expression grew intense. "Yeah. I…I was talking about it with McGonagall a while ago. You know how she does her whole 'tabby cat-turns into Transfiguration Professor' spiel on her first day? Well, I was curious about it and asked her about the whole process some weeks ago when I got detention. Said Animagi are immune to werewolves and that werewolves are…docile around them because they think of them as just other animals. I…I think it could really work!"
Two skeptical gazes met his impassioned statement, causing James to deflate a touch.
"How do you reckon we go about doing that? It's not like we can just ask McGonagall to teach us, blimey, I don't even think she knows about Remus!"
"Sirius' got a good point there…how are we going to pull this off? Can Third Years even become animagi? McGonagall's an adult witch with adult magic…not sure how we compare."
James frowned. "Look, I know it seems impossible but we can at least…try? I can sneak the books from the Library with the cloak, and we can…I dunno…have McGonagall give us pointers when we're in detention."
A few moments passed before Pettigrew gave a firm nod. "Alright, I'm in." He stuck out his hand. "For Remus!"
Potter grinned in delight as he mimicked his friend. "For Remus!"
Sirius narrowed his eyes…before barking out a delighted laugh. "For Remus!"
13 January 1975
The Quibbling Gazette
By Xenophilius R.I. Lovegood
THE VULGATE TALE OF THE KNIGHTS OF WALPURGIS
Once upon a time, in a land both apart and around us all were six mighty and brave warriors.
They sat in a great watchtower that loomed over all, the true guardians chosen by Hecate to keep vigil over all her creations.
There was Sir Galahad - the leader and arbiter of Hecate's will.
He was followed by Sir Bedivere - the right hand of Galahad.
Sir Gareth and Lady Lagertha served at the left.
Galeschin was the shield that protected the front,
and Sagramore the armor that guarded the back.
As one they kept a strict survey over the realm of mortals - the one six-headed sentinel.
The Great Evil was wary of the warriors' power, a monstrous goliath borne of pure fear and hate.
Fear - the illogical belief that some of its brethren who shared Hecate's gift would be the source of its extinction.
Hatred - the unquenchable fire of destruction whose flames were fanned by Fear.
The Great Evil unleashed violent carnage throughout the realm, leaving blood-soaked trails and fathomless despair. The Knights bravely fought against this scourge, succeeding in curtailing a considerable amount of its ferocious brutality.
But despite the persistence of the Knights efforts, the Great Evil would not be denied in its wrath.
As mere mortals, the Knights-
"Ugh, what is Xeno rambling about this time?" Prongs snatched the stickied paper off the Gryffindor House bulletin board, face scrunching as he tried to interpret the confusing prose written by the strange-at-best Ravenclaw Fifth Year.
"Who the hell knows with him? It's always one oddball quip after another." Wormtail rolled his eyes, causing James to snicker.
"Pretty sure it's meant to be satire," replied Moony as he scanned the text with narrowed eyes. "Well…at least I assume it's meant to be."
"Not so sure about that." The three friends stared at Padfoot who bore a most uncommon expression of…well…seriousness. "My grandfather was talking about this a while ago, these so-called 'Knights of Walpurgis'. They're making a statement against the Dark Lord, and according to the Prophet they're the reason Upper Flagley and Ilkley are still standing. The Knights cut down almost half of the Dark Lord's twenty-member attacking force, and I think a few of the Ghosts got grievously injured." He sneered then, hoping his violently demented cousin Bellatrix met her timely end.
"Do you think it's going to be enough?" Moony looked keenly worried. "The aurors can't really do much from what the papers say. Director Crouch has been trying for months now to get the Death Eater Laws passed, but the so-called traditionalists in the Wizengamot keep stonewalling him. You don't need me to tell you that those Lords and Ladies are high on the list of suspected Death Eaters."
Padfoot frowned, a profound weariness settling over his features. "I'm really not sure anymore."
Prongs sighed. "C'mon, we've got to get going, can't be late for DADA. Plus, if we get there early enough, I'm pretty sure I can get a seat next to Lily." His friends rolled their eyes at his enthusiasm, wandering which obscure hex Evans would use to stave him off.
Almost Two Hours Later…
"Mr. Pettigrew, please stay after class."
The class made their exit, with the other three Marauders looking back worriedly at their friend. While Professor Rookwood was a tough bastard with practically everyone regardless of House, he seemed to have a poignant dislike for the four Gryffindor friends.
Waiting for the class to clear, Rookwood escorted Peter into his private quarters, making sure to lock the door and nonverbally activating all his security measures.
"Please, have a seat." Nervously, the boy took the seat across from the Professor's own. A few tense beats passed before the older man spoke:
"Your grades have been quite good." Pettigrew blinked. "Not at the top of the class, but nonetheless in the Top 10. A very good showing so far."
"Um…thank you sir?" Rookwood tilted his head and stared at the boy unblinkingly. The moment stretched on uncomfortably as the boy warred with the sensation that the man was digging through his mind, though any attempt to focus on the strange feeling caused it to slip from his hand like sand.
"Enough of this," said Rookwood suddenly. He leaned forward on his arms, staring directly into Peter's startled watery orbs. "Die Spielzeit ist vorbei, der Große Böse Wolf."
At that whispered statement, the Gryffindor's world went completely dark as his psychic self was rendered into unwilling unconsciousness. The backdoor of his mind opened as someone else walked in as though he were coming back home.
Teary blue eyes flashed open, gleaming with a razor sharp intelligence one would never hope to see on Peter Pettigrew's face.
But of course, this wasn't Peter Pettigrew.
That was a false name, a false identity. A well-crafted Personality implanted into his head at the manifestation of his first bout of accidental magic at the tender age of four. Papa had insisted, as the mind was much more malleable at that age and thus considerably less prone to the detection of a Master Legilimens.
The one who now sat before Rookwood was Papa's true son, the one who bore his True Name bestowed by ancient nomenographical blood rites now expressly forbidden by most wizarding Western Europe governments.
"Anselme. Welcome back."
The boy smiled, expression oozing confidence and cruel satisfaction. "It's good to be back, Patenonkel. It's damn good to be back."
Almost One Hour Later…
"So is he truly the one we seek?"
Anselme sipped at his tea.
"I believe so. Like Papa indicated, I feel a keen…prickle in my blood whenever I am near him, especially when he is transformed. Though not as strongly, I can still detect it when we're both untransformed. I think he is a descendant of the Apocalypse Thirteen. He will be the key to their resurrection."
"And the other two?"
Anselme snorted. "Mere distractions, perhaps will be useful as blood bags. Black hates his heritage and House entirely too much to be a useful tool, and loathe as I am to admit it, his obstinate mind is implacable. His Grimm-like form won't help matters either, the call of Death lingers too closely." He shuddered in spite of himself. "Potter is a besotted fool for that mudblood Evans girl. It's a pity really…she is delightfully vicious in a way Papa would appreciate." He snickered as Rookwood chuckled. The girl did have potential, but the taint of her blood made it an impossibility. That, and her mind seemed to have been properly primed by Tom Riddle to detect unwanted intrusion.
Severus Snape's mind was even more impenetrable, a consequence (once more) of Riddle's training and the boy's own natural Occlumency.
His jaw unconsciously ticked.
"Have you gleaned anything from their minds?"
Rookwood sighed. "No more than the usual base monotony of the animal mind, with a bit more varying complexity one would expect from an animagus, particularly an adolescent one. Perhaps…if they were to ascend to Wild Anim-"
"Careful." Anselme's tone was sharp, with a bite of authority that Rookwood didn't fail to miss. Nodding once, he changed the subject.
The two proceeded to make small talk about other less-than-urgent topics.
"What of your…other prospects Patenonkel?"
The older man smiled. "Messrs. Crouch Jr. and Prewett are well on their way, we'll see soon enough."
Anselme smiled, and the conversation soon drifted to other topics. Quickly clearing their teacups, Rookwood leaned forward and whispered "Schlaf, Kindlein, schlaf!"
Eyes blinking the boy gave a quick shake of his head, none-the-wiser to anything that had just occurred.
"Sorry Professor. Seems like my mind wandered for a bit there. What were you saying?"
Rookwood gave a small smile. "Worry not, Mr. Pettigrew. Everything is as it should be."
13 May 1976
Ab Seite 11 Die Silberne Fledermaus
von Luxo Karuzos IV
DER SELTSAME FALL VON BRITISCH DUNKLE HERRSCHER
Wie Sie sicher alle bemerkt haben, wurde Britannien von einem neuen Dunkle Herrscher mit beispielloser Gewalt konfrontiert.
Da seine wahre Identität unbekannt ist, hat der Dunkle Lord gewalttätiges Chaos angerichtet; er ermordet die Herren und Damen des Zaubergamots, schlachtet Muggelgeborene und Muggelgeborene gleichermaßen ab und erklärt sich selbst zum Zauberer-Messias, der das Zauberer-Großbritannien retten wird, indem er die Vorherrschaft der Reinblüter wiederherstellt.
Noch beunruhigender ist der Name seiner persönlichen Armee – die Geisters von Schlesien. Wie sich unsere Leser vielleicht erinnern, war Gustav Kleinwuchs, auch bekannt als 'Der Schlächter von Schlesien', der vertrauenswürdige Leutnant des Dunkle Herrscher Grindelwald. Er ermordete Tausende unschuldige Menschen, bevor er 1945 bei der Bombardierung Dresdens schließlich starb.
Die Geschichte wiederholt sich und wir kommen nicht umhin, die Ähnlichkeiten in den grausamen Gewalttaten der beiden monströsen Männer zu bemerken.
Wir können nur hoffen, dass nicht ein Geist aus der Vergangenheit des Todeswolf zurückgekehrt ist, um uns alle zu verfolgen.
07 November 1976 - Gryffindor Common Room, 8:05PM
A visibly furious Sirius angrily stomped his way inside, slamming the entry door shut with a frightful rattle.
Several students exchanged concerned glances, with some scampering out of Heir Black's way as to not become unintentional targets of his notorious temper.
"Stupid, buggering, arse-kissing, Granian balls-sucking, death munching, fucking arsehole!" Eyes widened at the colorful vulgarity.
"Bloody hell Padfoot, calm down!" James jumped up from the couch and slowly approached his best friend, hands up as though he were approaching a wild animal. True to form, Sirius snarled as he ran agitated hands through his hair.
"It's fucking Rosier Prongs!" His friend had resorted to pacing. "Little shit was sneaking after me earlier this afternoon, claiming that he'd seen me - seen us - lurking around the Shack during his patrols these past few months and has been tailing us!" Peter's eyes widened in tandem with James' at that declaration. "So I told the pureblood twat exactly how to get past the Whomping Willow so he could see for his bloody self!"
"WHAT?! You told Rosier to go to the Shrieking Shack?! How to get past the Willow?!" James froze, eyes widening in shock. "Merlin Padfoot, do you know what the hell could happen to him?!"
A flash of rage lit up Heir Black's eyes, causing James to take a step back at the intensity of his best friend's expression. In that particular moment, Potter was shocked to realize just how much Sirius looked like Walburga Black.
"It's what the little Death Eater deserves! You didn't hear him Prongs, rambling on about how Marlene's parents deserved to be tortured and murdered, calling them all types of horrible slurs! The smarmy fucking toad claimed that they should have been honored, to be personally cleansed from the world by the Dark Lord." Murmurs of disquiet sounded at that statement. Rosier had always been a rampaging arsehole, but this…this was something else entirely.
"Padfoot," James said with as much patience as he could muster. "You know what's in the Shrieking Shack! The…the acromantula for crying out loud!" That was a lie, but it was the most believable one the Marauders had taken to telling to cover the real truth of what actually lurked behind the Shack's walls. Leaving about dead hares both within and around the perimeter of the Shack further drove the point home, the creatures charmed to look as though they'd been punctured by overly large spider pincers.
Heir Black snorted contemptuously. "Well then, I'd say that's exactly what the fuck he deserves Prongs!" James could only gawk in horrified shock, startled that his best friend cared so little about the life of another...even if they were a Slytherin. Unbidden, Lily Evans' visage popped up in his mind, and he felt himself grow all the more uncomfortable.
A sudden gasp from the stairwell brought them all up short.
"Oh no…Sirius! You…you told Felix to go to the Shrieking Shack?!"
The boy sneered rudely. "Yeah? And what of it?!"
Alice's eyes only widened. "Because you colossally stupid prick, Felix switched patrol shifts with Marlene this morning! Us prefects have a three-time pass we give each other to switch if any one of us is in a bind. And Marlene never misses a shift."
Sirius' face was bloodless in pure dread as a horrified James bolted out of the room. Sirius was just about to follow when he felt the sharp pain of suddenly-long fingernails digging into his shoulder. It was Wormtail, though for a moment, Sirius almost didn't recognize the other Marauder. His eyes blazed with a feral rage, and his teeth … when did they get so sharp and pointy?!
"YOU STUPID BASTARD!"
And with a mighty bellow Peter slugged Sirius in the jaw hard, scratching his flesh bloody and dislodging at two teeth that flew clear across the room. Padfoot went down hard, and less than a second later Wormtail was on top of him, pounding on his head and scratching at his skin while screaming obscenities.
"Sweet Circe!" Longbottom and Derrick McLaggen leapt up and with great effort, succeeded in prying the boy off.
By this point, a bloodied and nigh unrecognizable Sirius was already unconscious.
The Following Morning…
News of Marlene McKinnon's attack and Remus' disappearance had spread like wildfire, with practically every student discussing it with varying degrees of incredulity and sadness.
It seemed that on the eve of discovering her family being horrendously tortured by Death Eaters, tragedy had once more befallen the poor girl. She'd ventured out in the night during her patrol to "clear her head", unfortunately wandering into the Forbidden Forest. She'd been captured by a rogue acromantula, poisoned and subsequently eaten to death. Remus Lupin, also on Prefect patrol duty, had gone to the Shack in pursuit of his Housemate and had also been attacked and killed. It'd also been revealed that Felix Rosier was the reason for Marlene being out near the Shack to begin with, and as such, the boy was notably absent from the Slytherin table.
It was all a lie.
Wormtail was the only Marauder sitting at the Gryffindor table, and his expression was disturbingly blank. Prongs was meeting with Headmaster Dumbledore and Black was still in the Hospital Wing. Anselme - not Peter - belatedly wished Wormtail had mastered the Black Death aspect of his animagic abilities, so that Black would have properly perished from a most painful pustule-filled death.
Thoughts of Padfoot filled Wormtail with a teeth-grinding rage, and it took significant effort to beat back the wave of wrath. He didn't notice the spoon he held in his hand bend at the sheer force of his strength.
'For his sake, he'd better hope he doesn't make it. Or I'll kill him myself.' The thought ran on a loop through the rat animagus' mind, unwittingly causing his nails to grow long and pointy.
It went without saying that the Marauders, for all intents and purposes, were currently disbanded.
14 October 1977
From the Front Page of the Daily Prophet
By Chief Editor Barnabus Cuffe
LORD AND LADY POTTER MURDERED BY DARK LORD!
TORTURED FOR HOURS BY GHOSTS OF SILESIA!
HEIR POTTER IS NOW ACTING LORD POTTER!
ENGAGEMENT CONFIRMED WITH SLYTHERIN MUGGLEBORN LILY EVANS!
25 December 1977 - The Pettigrew Abode - Upper Appleby, 7:56PM
The soft clanking of spoons was the only sound that could be heard in the modest dining room as its two occupants enjoyed their servings of figgy pudding. It was one of the few luxuries the man of the house allowed, in line with the so-called holiday spirit.
Never let it be said that the Dark Lord was a scrooge.
Seated at the table's head was the wizened form of Gustav Kleinwuchs, unadorned by the false form of the Martin Pettigrew persona foisted upon him when the British Unspeakables had granted him asylum after the bombing of Dresden.
He was surprisingly slight with average height, considerably shorter than his own scion. Honeyed green eyes burned with a feverish intensity that only hinted at the homicidal wrath that lurked within. His robes were considerably more modest than he would typically go for, but Martin Pettigrew was a retired librarian with very humble beginnings and even lesser galleons.
As always, Papa did not bother to make eye contact with his son, content to focus entirely on his meal.
They soon finished, and without a word, father ushed son upstairs to a particular bedroom.
Her Room.
Papa opened the door, leading them into the room proper to stand over the sleeping woman's bed. It was Edwina Pettigrew (née Gamp), eyes closed in peaceful sleep. The woman had been bed-bound since Anselme was a babe, kept under with routine doses of Draught of Living Death. Both Anselme and Peter cared for her, the latter moreso than the former. Anselme appreciated her for being the vessel which gave him life, while Peter lamented the experiences he'd wished to have with the woman if, as he was led to believe, had been infirmed due to a rare sickness incurred as a consequence of childbirth. It was worse that Peter believed he were the cause of her affliction, further compounding the guilt both psychic occupants felt. Both knew that Papa had never felt any real affection for her, only marrying her due to her maiden name. Upon discovery that neither she nor her son would be able to take on the Gamp mantle (in accordance with its House Charter), Papa had drugged with her Draught of Living Death.
"It is time, Anselme." Papa's voice was surprisingly softer than one would expect for a Dark Lord, with a delicate Bayerisch lilt. "I have allowed you this…indulgence for the bulk of your life." He tutted in a passably pitiable manner...for anyone lucky enough to not know his true nature. "It is time to leave these...childish things behind." He tilted his head once at Edwina's form.
The threat was perfectly clear.
Allowing the seconds to tick on, it took a considerable amount of time before his son nodded once. He unholstered his wand - 13 and ½ inch vine with a phoenix feather core.
"Ah, ah, ah!" Papa wagged his finger teasingly. "No magic, mein lieber Junge!"
"When one takes their first life, one must properly experience it. Must feel his prey struggling beneath the flesh of his hand, to feel the very moment when the soul departs from the mortal coil." A twisted exuberance shone from his face, making Anselme blink as he reupholstered his wand.
"Just like I did with Lady Ilene." Papa tilted his head inquiringly. "You remember, don't you Anselme?" The pensieve memory of Papa - in all his Dark Lord glory - flittered through his mind, recalling the sensation of delight he'd felt from his father as a choking and blood-drenched Ilene feebly tried to claw at his face.
"This is the next step, Anselme." Gustav soundlessly approached his son, standing less than a foot away from the stock-still boy. "The Watchtower is falling, brick…by brick…by brick." He came a touch closer. "If we are to tear it asunder, I need you to take your rightful place by my side." Another step closer. "Solum potentia mein lieber Sohn…are you too weak to understand it?"
A beat passed.
Anselme nodded once.
In a flash Gustav produced a phial of Wiggenweld potion, pouring it down Edwina's lips. She slowly blinked her eyes open, recognition flooding her features as they landed on her son.
"P-Peter? Is…is that you dar-"
Her eyes bulged as her son's left hand wound around her throat and his right covered her nose. The former squeezed as the latter pressed downward. Though her muscles were quite weak from prolonged disuse she still fought, instinct overtaking her body as she struggled to draw air. Through it all, her eyes never left her son's.
Soon, her struggles wound down and she stopped fighting as her feeble life force drained away.
Her eyes never left her son's.
It hurt.
Anselme was... surprised at the emotion, the strange clawing sensation against his heart as he heard and felt Peter scream in grief-filled anguish. He felt Peter bumrushing his mind, attempting to upend him and rip him apart with his bare hands. It took all of his Occludic abilities to keep the sheer force of rage at bay, fighting to keep upright and not crumble to the floor in heartbroken agony.
'This... this hurts too much. I don't ever want to feel like this again.'
And with the psychic equivalent of a mighty ax, Anselme severed that ephemeral cord that existed between himself and Peter, and with it, severing the last little link to his humanity. Using the techniques his Patenonkel had painstakingly taught him, placed his unconscious Personality in a padded room. From henceforth, he would be a useful tool and nothing else.
Papa smiled, placing a passably warm hand on his son's shoulder.
"Es ist Zeit, mein lieber Sohn."
Current Time…
As Scabbers' form lay slumbering in newly-minted Head Boy Percy Weasley's room, the mind of Rex Norvegicus was…Elsewhere.
Not the true Elsewhere, the Wild Realm that straddled the precipice of Oblivion and the Never-Ending Darkness.
This was the space between that space, where his human mind - tethered to his animagic vessel - could still be aided by the power of the Dark Wild and not shredded to metaphysical bits and pieces. He could still hear them…the whisperings of the Old Ones as they lay toiling in their blood-soaked bonds, begging for release. Xa'ligha was always the loudest, the powerful thrum of his dissonance the first sign of a breach in the Wild realm-space.
It was only natural; Anselme had offered his very blood and the bindings of his very soul as alms to the Great Ones, those who could still receive such offerings. Without them, he would have never risen to the mantle of Rex Norvegicus.
'But Time is running out.'
He needed a human body to made whole again, to fulfil the tenets of his destiny - of Papa's legacy - that had been left abandoned when that fucking Boy-Who-Lived had somehow destroyed his physical form. The prophetic thorn in his side somehow had a twin (a Slytherin to boot!) who'd also succeeded in thwarting his plans at resurrection. His Wild Animagic ability kept his life force relatively stable, drawing from that of other rats within the earthly realm. Since rats were plentiful, he would be properly sustained.
But it wasn't good enough.
Rex Norvegicus did feel a semblance of comfort that the Slytherin Potter was probably chasing his tail over the false clue of Wilkes' feather. While the dark enchanted object was a useful means to drain the life force of a victim to create a body for his own (and how close he had been to devouring the Weasley brat's!), it was a one and done. None others existed, but he hoped Harry Potter and his allies would never discover that truth. It would buy him plenty of time to restore his body and fulfill his one and only Destiny.
A series of distortedly hellish howls licked at the Dark Lord's ears, and he shuddered in spite of himself.
The Hounds of Tindalos had been roused.
Time was almost up.
AN 1: Hope you liked this peek into Peter Pettigrew's background. One theme in PoS I've appreciated is the complicated relationships between fathers and sons, and I figured our Dark Lord (II?) ought not be an exception. The role of Peter in AD is played by Dan Stevens, and Gustav/Martin/Papa played by Christoph Waltz (a mix between Inglourious Basterds and Spectre.) Gustav's Bayerisch accent is a nod to his Bavarian ancestry, as he is a descendant of Emeric Belasco.
AN 2: Nomenographically speaking - Anselme is Old German for 'God's Helmet' and Gustav is Old German for 'staff of the gods'. Lends some much needed context.
AN 3: Remus & Marlene will make another cameo...when the time is right.
AN 4: All of the newspaper names are real per HP Wiki. My German is rather rusty, but the article for Die Silberne Fledermaus translates as follows: 'THE CURIUS CASE OF THE BIRTISH DARK LORD'. As I'm sure you've all noticed, Britain has been met with unprecedented violence from a new Dark Lord. With his true identity unknown, the Dark Lord has wreaked violent havoc. He murders the lords and ladies of the Wizengamot, slaughters muggleborn and muggleborn alike, and proclaims himself the wizarding messiah who will save wizarding Britain by restoring pureblood supremacy. Even more disturbing is the name of his personal army - the Ghosts of Silesia. As our readers may recall, Gustav Kleimwuchs, also known as "The Butcher of Silesia", was the Dark Lord Grindelwald's trusted lieutenant. He murdered thousands of innocent people before finally dying in the 1945 bombing of Dresden. History repeats itself and we can't help but notice the similarities in the gruesome acts of violence of the two monstrous men. We can only hope that a ghost from the Wolf of Death's past has not returned to haunt us all.
AN 5: The Quibbling Gazette is the precursor to The Quibbler - the former Xeno's brainchild in Hogwarts, the latter once he'd graduated and traveled. As suggestive as his story is, he is not aware of the PoS, the Sentinel, and other such related topics.
AN 6: While it may seem odd that Marguerite Scarabee was schoolmates with Lily & the Marauders and yet was able to write articles about them as an adult Rita Skeeter, it is not. In AD, she secured a coveted internship at the Prophet and through a plethora of Glamour Charms, fabricated the Rita Skeeter personality at the same time. More on that later.